It is not only the susurrations of my own air conditioner as it
Strips the water out of the air that
Holds too much of it in lowering clouds that
Hesitate to relieve themselves
Not thinking the oak and cedar and mesquite here
Mildew growing atop limestains
But the low hum of the neighboring office’s coolers
Singing as they hold the flowers
Pitches changing as hands reach in to pluck out
What those same hands lodged inside

The music on in the background
Trying to balance engagement and nonannoyance
Because there are differing tastes that come in the door at odd whiles
And some of us have to sit and hear the songs all day
Never does manage quite to cover up those noises
Or those of the highway just outside
People racing past what are just barely not residences
And all too often finding obstacles they did not expect

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